


What Really Happened

by pulangaraw



Category: Castle
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-11
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:59:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulangaraw/pseuds/pulangaraw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Castle told Beckett about his traumatic experience in the past that led to his fascination with the macabre, he wasn't telling the truth. But he wasn't exactly lying either. This is what really happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Really Happened

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: OMC character death.

"Ricky," Nanny Jayne called, but Ricky was already halfway down the beach and he had no intention of turning back. He knew from experience that Nanny Jayne would soon be tired of looking for him and busy herself with her latest dime novel instead. She would sometimes read bits of them out to Ricky. They were mostly boring. The beach was much more interesting.

Ricky made his way down to the shoreline, kicking up sand as he ran. When he reached the water's edge he let the waves lick at his feet. It tickled and he giggled. The water was still cold from the winter and very soon he had to take a few steps back. He turned left and wandered down the beach, and started looking for shells and dead fish.

A couple days ago he'd been down here with Chris, their housekeepers son and they'd found a dead jellyfish. It had been awesome. Chris, who was already seven and thought he knew everything had said that the year before he'd found a pirate treasure, complete with a real human skull on top. When Ricky asked where it was Chris refused to tell him and later laughed at him for believing his story.

"I'll show him," Ricky said to himself, "I'll find a real treasure and then he'll be sorry."

He kept on going, moving further and further away from the house. The beach became more rocky, the waves spraying against stones, instead of lapping gently over sand. The ground underfoot grew slippery, but Ricky was used to it, he didn't hesitate.

He knew he'd come a long way, that he probably should turn around and go back, but so far, he hadn't found anything interesting enough to rub it in Chris' face. The tide returned and started swallowing up the beach. Ricky stopped and watched the waves for a few minutes. He sighed. Really, it was time to turn around. Mommy would be mad if he stayed out any longer. He’d just have to make up a story to tell Chris. He was good at making up stories, but he’d much rather have found something to bring back as proof. Still, he had to go back. He sighed again, looked down at his cold feet and wished there was an adult around to carry him.

He cast one last glance forward, hoping to spot something and... there it was! It looked like a turtle, a big one. Ricky started towards it and it was then that he heard someone calling.

"Ricky, hey!"

Ricky turned and saw Chris running down the beach towards him, trying not to slip on the wet stones.

"Damn," Ricky muttered, the way he'd heard Mommy do it many times, and cast a longing glance towards the turtle. Maybe Chris wouldn’t see it. Maybe he could come back later.

"Your mom's looking for you," Chris said, panting, as he came to a stop in front of Ricky.

Ricky shrugged. "I was just gonna come back."

“You better.” He was about to turn around, when he stopped and craned his neck to look beyond Ricky. “Hey, what’s that?”

“Nothing.”

“No, look. It looks like a turtle!” Chris started to move towards it.

“No!” Ricky shouted and grabbed Chris’ shirt. “It’s mine, I found it first!”

He pulled the bigger boy backwards trying to stop him from moving towards his find.

“Let go!” Chris twisted to pull himself free.

“It’s mine!” Ricky shouted again and tugged hard.

Chris turned, grabbed Ricky’s wrist and twisted his skin viciously, “Let go of me.”

Ricky pulled his hand away and Chris started again towards the turtle.

“ _I_ found it!”

“I’m gonna get to it first. Finder keepers, losers weepers,” Chris sing-songed over his shoulder.

Angry tears blurred Ricky’s vision as he ran after the other boy. Chris was almost there and Ricky balled his hands into fists. He should have been quicker. If only he was a bit older, he could fight Chris for it and he’d win. This was so not fair.

Chris glanced at him over his shoulder, grinning triumphantly, only a few steps from the turtle now.

It was at this moment that he slipped on a stone. Chris threw out his arms, trying to catch his balance, but his other foot got stuck between two stones and Chris made a pained sound, eyes wide, and then he fell backwards. Ricky heard the awful cracking sound Chris’ head made when it hit the stones.

“Chris?” Ricky asked, but Chris didn’t move.

Ricky stepped closer and that’s when he saw the blood. It was colouring the stones under Chris’ head red, pooling in the gaps between them. A big wave rolled onto the shore and seawater mingled with blood, drawing it back into the ocean.

Ricky crouched down and poked Chris’ arm, “Chris, wake up.”

Chris still didn’t move. Ricky was starting to panic, there was so much blood already, surely that couldn’t be good. Mommy had been in a play once where someone got stabbed and he’d died and there had been less blood than this. Ricky shook Chris by the shoulders, shouted his name, but nothing changed.

Ricky thought hard. What would a doctor do? He’d been to the ER twice already, once with a cut to his knee and the other time because he’d broken his wrist. The doctor had put gauze on the knee until it stopped bleeding. Maybe he could try that. But there wasn’t any gauze around.

“Help!” Ricky shouted, but there was no one around to hear him. “Help,” he repeated more quietly. He needed help. But the closest help he could think of was at home. At least half an hour up the beach. In one of Nanny Jayne’s stories it had said that people have ten pints of blood in them. Ricky had tried to drink a whole pint of orange juice once and he hadn’t managed it. Maybe if he ran real fast, he could get there and back here before all of the blood ran out of Chris’ body. It didn’t look like he’d lost that much yet. He just had to run real fast.

So Ricky ran. He’d never run so hard or so long in his life. His lungs hurt and it was hard to breathe. His feet hurt too, pounding on sand and stones, but Ricky kept running. He was maybe half a mile from the house when he saw Mommy coming towards him.

“Richard Alexander Rodgers, where have you been,” she called.

“Mom,” Ricky gasped when he reached her.

She grabbed him by the arm, “What did I tell you about going to the beach alone? Do you know what could have happened-”

“Mom!” he interrupted, still trying desperately to catch his breath, “Chris... accident...” He pulled his arm free, waved his hands to stop her, to make her pay attention.

Something did stop her, but it wasn’t his words. She started at his hands. “Richard, what happened?”

He looked at his own hands and they were red. He hadn’t even noticed the blood until now.

“Chris,” he said again, “there was an accident. Help, mom.”

 

When they finally got back to Chris, the paramedics right behind them, it was already too late. Ricky wanted to go to him, but Mom held him back, said they had to give the doctors space to work.

\--------

It was only much later, back at the house after the funeral, when he saw Mrs Greeson sitting at the kitchen table, twisting a handkerchief in her hands, tears running down her cheeks that Ricky truly understood. He’d never play with Chris again.

When Mrs Greeson saw him standing in the doorway she dabbed at her eyes and waved him over. "Thank you, Richard," she said, "Thank you for trying." And then she hugged him.

 _I should have run faster_ , Ricky thought, _I should have turned around earlier, I shouldn't have tried to hold him back, I should have put something on his head to stop the blood; all that blood!_ He didn't say any of it, though, just let Mrs Greeson hold onto him for long minutes.

When she finally let go of him she took his shoulders and said, "It's not your fault."

He nodded, stared at a spot on the wall behind her and thought about the water washing away Chris' blood, dragging it into the sea. Ten pints of blood.

"Richard, look at me," she said and he reluctantly shifted his gaze. "It wasn't your fault."

\---------

Years later, whenever Richard Castle remembered this moment, he thought of his own daughter and how much it must have cost Mrs Greeson to say those words. And he was grateful.

 

The End


End file.
